


The Law Messes With You

by EllieTheGreat



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Super Troopers AU, complete and utter crack, if you squint really hard you can find some relationships in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieTheGreat/pseuds/EllieTheGreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol Danvers, Clint Barton, Jessica Drew, Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark are Vermont state troopers- led by Captain Steve Rogers- out to have a good time. Stationed in a remote area near the Canadian border, the troopers, avid pranksters with an affinity for syrup, have a knack for screwing up on the job. But when budget cuts in the town of Spurbury threaten their livelihood and pit them against arch-rival Spurbury P.D., the five friends try to straighten up and fly right. That is, until a dead body is discovered and a possible drug ring is unearthed. The super troopers spring into action attempting to solve the crime, save their jobs, and outdo Chief Fury's local police department.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Law Messes With You

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that follows the storyline of the 2001 movie Super Troopers. The description was taken and altered from the movie's summary.

When you worked the highway patrol for long enough, there were a few things you could tell before even pulling someone over. You could tell if they were wearing a seat belt, judging by the silhouette they cast. You could tell they were drunk if the wheels wobbled a little too much. But nothing was more obvious than a car full of teenagers higher than Mount Everest. Of course, those same teenagers didn't know that. No, they were content to think they were safely on their way to the border where Vermont met Canada. Radio blaring and a slim smoking cylinder being passed from mouth to mouth, the trio of teens was oblivious to the cruiser pulling alongside them. The driver, mid-huff, glanced over and found himself staring straight into the dark aviator lenses worn by the patrolmen.  
With a yelp, the teen dropped the blunt in his lap, stamping it out quickly and pasting on what he hoped was an innocent smile. The officer in the other car simply stared him down, her gaze never wavering behind the sunglasses. In the passenger seat of the pot-mobile, a blond boy turned pleading eyes on the boy in the backseat. He shoved two plastic baggies into his friend's hands, keeping one eye on the car that kept even with them.  
“You gotta eat it man,” he whispered, his voice shaky.  
The boy stared at him in disbelief. “These are shrooms!”  
Despite himself, the blond giggled. “Yeah, they are. C'mon, you gotta eat it! Our parents'll kill us if we get caught!”  
Grumbling, the boy took the bags. The sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention and the blonde held up another bag. “While you're at it?”  
“No way! Throw it out the window!” He demanded, voice distorted by his full mouth.  
“All right, all right!” The blonde cried.  
Trying to remain casual, he rolled his window down a few inches and tossed the bag out, turning his shoulders to block the movement.  
At the same time he spoke, the cruiser beside them flipped on their sirens and sped away, taillights disappearing in a cloud of dust. For a moment, silence hung in the car. Then, all three burst into laughter, letting out breaths they had been holding for a long while.  
“I thought we were goners!” The driver whooped.  
Turning in his seat, the blond arched an eyebrow at his friend. “You didn't really eat all that, did you?”  
Triumphantly, he held up two empty plastic bags. “Call Guinness!”  
Laughter filled the car again, cut short when the blonde spoke again. “Man, that had to be a hundred bucks worth of weed and at least thirty bucks of shrooms. So, uh...I'm gonna need that $130, man. Y'know, whenever you get the chance.”  
Smiles faded and the driver shook his head in disdain. “Not cool, man.”  
The blonde's response was cut short by the wail of sirens behind them. Eyes wide, the teen behind the wheel carefully steered the car to the side of the road. After a few seconds, footsteps sounded outside their windows and a trooper leaned down to their level, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Her companion sidled up to the passenger side, resting her elbows against the open window.  
“License and registration,” the blonde trooper—Danvers, her name tag read –ordered.  
Nodding quickly, the driver quickly handed over his license.  
Danvers studied it for a moment before peering over the rim of her sunglasses at him. “Registration, son.”  
The boy mumbled something incoherent, fumbling with his glove compartment. It spilled open, dropping papers to the floor. Both boys in the front seat bent to search for the registration, shooting each other desperate looks. When the driver straightened, turning to hand over the registration, they found themselves alone. The cruiser tore off as if nothing had happened. Again, the boys fell silent for a moment before bursting into laughter.  
“I can't believe that happened,” the driver gasped out, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.  
The boy in the back gave a garbled string of words, his mind currently being clouded by the drugs he'd swallowed. Up front, the blond made a finger gun, pointing it out the windshield at the cruiser in the distance.  
“Good thing they left, 'cause I was about to pop a cap in that bitch's ass,” he whooped.  
A split second later, the cruiser slammed to a stop and jerked into reverse. It sped backwards, whipping in behind the parked vehicle again and causing a round of shrieks from the teenagers. The footsteps padded to the window again and the blonde woman leaned back down to their level.  
“License and registration,” she demanded lowly.  
The driver's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “B-but I just–“  
“License,” the other trooper—Drew—interrupted, “and registration.”  
Moving uncertainly now, he handed over the documents and stared straight ahead, his mind whirling.  
After a moment of silence, Danvers looked back at him. “Son, do you know why we pulled you over?”  
Her question was met with only silence, the driver's mouth opening and closing a couple of times on an answer.  
On the other side of the car, the dark-haired trooper held up a bag of what was clearly pot. “Littering.”  
Immediately, the boys found their voice. “Oh, officers, that's not ours—“  
“Littering and...?” Danvers prompted, leaning closer.  
“Littering and...?” Drew chimed in.  
The boy in the back seat leaned forward, tapping the blond kid's shoulder. “I'm freaking out, man.”  
Drew looked back at him. “You _are_ freaking out...man.”  
His eyes widened, the hallucinations starting to take effect. The monotone repetitions of “littering and...” were no help.  
Finally, Danvers took mercy on the fumbling boys. “Littering and...smoking the reefer.”  
Almost in sync, three sets of shoulders drooped in defeat.  
“Now, Officer Drew and I are going to teach you a lesson,” she began. “We're going to sit here and make you smoke every bit of it.”  
A cacophony of protests rose from the car but they were drowned out by the roar of an engine speeding past them. Turning to watch the passing car, Danvers stiffened.  
“Mother of God,” she muttered.  
Half a minute later, the cruiser was on the road and racing after the speeding car. The three teens were corralled in the backseat, all of them shrieking and begging for mercy at the bumpy ride. The cruiser followed its mark easily, taking the same dramatic turns and sudden movements. Finally, the car ahead whipped into a bar parking lot, the driver sprinting into the building. As one, Danvers and Drew leaped out of their cruiser and raced into the bar, guns drawn. Just as they flung the door open and burst inside, the man who had been driving the car turned toward them, an evil grin on his face. The two women relaxed, returning their guns to their holsters.  
“God damn it, Clint!” Danvers breathed, punching him in the shoulder.  
“Pay up, Carol,” he responded, shooting her a wink. “You too, Rookie.” The last was directed to the dark-haired woman.  
Danvers, as most of the marks knew her, was Carol Danvers, the senior officer on the highway patrol. Because of her experience, she had been given the rookie—Jessica Drew—as her partner. Clint Barton was the clown of the group, always in the mood to help alleviate the boredom on duty. Though absent at the moment, their precinct also included Clint's partner Bucky Barnes, the thorn in their collective side and the man currently on dispatch Tony Stark, and their fearless but weary leader Steve Rogers. They were a motley crew but they kept the highways as safe as they could.  
Pocketing the money he'd won, Clint turned to the bar where a small line of shotglasses had been set up and threw them all back, giving a loud whoop when he finished. “All right! Let's go back to the station and see how fast we can get the captain to kick us all out.”  
Carol groaned, shaking her head. “We've got Cheech, Chong, and Marley in the back of our cruiser.”  
A devious grin sprang up on Clint's face and he pulled his gun from his belt. “I got this.”  
Outside in the cruiser, the boy from the backseat was licking the glass divider between the front and back seats. Turning back to his friends, he announced earnestly, “These snozberries taste like snozberries.”  
Before they could respond, a handful of shots rang out inside the bar and Clint ran outside, the wig he had donned earlier as the reckless driver back in place. He threw open the cruiser door and dove inside, whipping around to look at the teens.  
“You boys like Mex-i-co?” he whooped, shifting the vehicle in reverse and throwing it into a serious of fast circles.  
The screams from the back seat could be heard inside the bar, where Carol and Jessica sipped their beers in silence.

 

“Three...two...one... _do it_.”  
On cue, Carol and Jess flipped their bottles of syrup up, guzzling like their lives depended on it. In the seat next to Carol, Clint watched avidly, making little comments every few seconds as the syrup levels decreased. Jess twisted in her seat, eyeing her partner. Behind her bottle, Carol shot her a wink and swallowed the last gulp of syrup, slamming the empty bottle on the table with a groan.  
“I am all that is woman!” she cheered, slapping hands with Clint.  
Jess muttered under her breath, wiping her mouth with her hand.  
“What's the matter, Drew, your mother never taught you to chug?” Clint teased. “Drink up, Rookie.”  
Shooting him a look, Jessica lifted the bottle to her lips again.  
At the breakfast bar, Natasha Romanova, the Spurbury Police Department's only female officer, nursed a cup of coffee while she read over a file. There was something of a rivalry between Spurbury and the Highway Patrol. Budget cuts were coming fast and that meant that the patrol was running the risk of being shut down. The police department seemed indispensable, which created a fair amount of resentment between the two organizations. For the most part, the groups stayed vastly divided, not interested in associating with the enemy. One patrolman was exempt from this—Clint's partner Bucky. Sparing his friends a smile as he walked in the door, he joined Natasha at the counter and ordered his own cup of coffee. Consumed with her work, Natasha didn't bother to acknowledge his presence and silence stretched.  
“How's, uh...how's dispatch?” he asked finally.  
Natasha looked over as if surprised to find herself with company. After a momentary pause, she shrugged. “It's all right. Field work would be better.”  
Bucky grinned, pleased that he'd gotten her to speak. “Chief Fury's gotta put you in eventually. You're too good to be working dispatch all the time.”  
Her eyes wandered to the table on the opposite side of the diner from patrolmen, where Chief Fury and a handful of Spurbury officers sat. “And yet, I do it everyday.”  
As the two spoke, Carol and Jess apparently grew bored of their challenge and sauntered over to the chief's table. Before either of them could speak, the chief turned with an exaggerated grin, holding up a finger.  
“Ah, yes, waitress. I'll have the schnitzel and sauerkraut,” he requested.  
Behind him, one of his officers chimed in, “Ooh, and I'll have some pumpkinnickel!”  
Jessica turned to Carol, confused. “I don't get it.”  
“They think I'm German,” she explained, shaking her head.  
Her partner paused, eyebrows raised. “...You're not German?”  
Carol opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off when Chief Fury spoke. “Thanks for the entertainment, ladies, but we've got real police business to attend to. Why don't the two of you go on and start looking for somewhere to work when your station's closed down.”  
Stepping forward, Carol's hands clenched into fists. “We're not getting shut down, Fury. Highway Patrol does just as much good as you and your goons do.”  
“You wanna say that to my face, Danvers?” Fury growled, pushing out of his chair, his officers following suit immediately.  
“How about I kick your ass instead?” Jessica chimed in, moving between Carol and Fury.  
A few minutes and a handful of insults later, a full-on brawl had broken out, Clint leaping into the mix with a war cry. Bucky shot up from his stool and joined the fray, his loyalty winning out over his small achievement in talking to Natasha. The door to the diner was ripped open and Captain Rogers strode in. Pausing for a split second to assess the situation, he reached into the fight and grabbed Clint and Jessica by their collars, hauling them out. Immediately noticing a shift, Carol held the punch she'd been about to throw and stepped back, grabbing Bucky's arm to make him follow.  
Captain Rogers fixed his bunch with a glare before turning to Chief Fury with a grim shake of his head. “Sorry about them, Nick. You know how they get when they've got syrup in them.”  
Fury straightened his uniform, shooting daggers at Carol for the coffee she'd managed to dump down his front. “I can hardly blame them. I'm sure my men would act the same way if their station were getting shut down.”  
The captain's face hardened but he didn't respond. Turning back to his own, he jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Get to the station. We've got work to do.”

As it turned out, there hadn't been much to discuss at the status meeting. The captain had informed them of what they already knew. The mayor had announced that the bottom three stations would be closed, as the state's finances couldn't afford to keep them open if they weren't performing well. Stark, still on probation for an incident with a school bus, had slipped a bar of soap in Jess' coffee, howling in laughter halfway through Steve's lecture. Fed up, Steve plucked the soap from the coffee and pegged Tony with it, the bar bouncing off his chest with a thunk. After that, the meeting had kind of spiraled. Steve dismissed them all, confirming that Stark was still on radio and that everyone else was to bust their asses and bring in as much work as they could.  
“I don't wanna be the rookie again,” Bucky complained, fiddling with the radio dial. “It sucked the first time around.”  
Clint shrugged, his eyes scanning the road. “Don't worry about it. We're not getting shut down. We'll—what the hell? What are they doing on our turf?”  
He raised his hand, pointing ahead where a Spurbury cruiser had someone pulled over. Flipping his lights on, he steered his own cruiser in behind them and tapped the horn. Flashing him the finger, the other officers drove off.  
Clint shifted into park and glanced over at his partner. “What about 'Cat Game'?”  
“What's the record?” Bucky asked, climbing out.  
“Danvers did six but I think you can do ten,” Clint challenged, following him and crossing over to the passenger side.  
Bucky arched an eyebrow, heading for the driver's window. “Ten? Starting right meow?”  
Clint laughed, waving him forward. Bucky approached the window, sliding his sunglasses up on his nose.  
“All right meow. Hand over your license and registration.” He shot a look over the roof at Clint, who ticked off the point on his hand.  
The driver passed him the license.  
Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Your registration? Hurry up meow.”  
The driver laughed slightly, handing over the paper.  
“Something funny here boy?” Bucky prompted.  
The man shook his head. “Oh, no.”  
“Then why are you laughing Mister...Larry Johnson?” He paused, waiting for the man to jump in. “All right meow, where were we?”  
“A-are you...saying 'meow'?” Larry asked hesitantly, holding back laughter.  
“Am I saying 'meow'?” Bucky repeated, incredulous.  
Larry shrugged, shaking his head. “I thought—“  
“Don't think, boy. Meow do you know how fast you were going?” he demanded.  
Larry burst into laughter again.  
Feigning anger, Bucky crossed his arms. “Meow _what_ is so damn funny?”  
“I-I could've sworn you said 'meow',” Larry replied.  
Bucky's eyes narrowed, ignoring Clint's shaking shoulders on the other side of the car. “Do I look like a cat to you, boy? Am I jumping around all nimbly bimbly from tree to tree? Am I drinking milk from a saucer? _Do you see me eating mice?_ You stop laughing right meow!”  
Larry choked on his laughter, swallowing hard. “Yes, sir.”  
“Meow I'm gonna have to give you a ticket on this one,” Bucky held up his hand when the man's mouth opened in protest. “No buts meow. It's the law. Not so funny meow is it?”  
Ripping off a ticket and handing it over, Bucky turned to leave. Across the car, Clint cleared his throat, holding up nine fingers. Bucky leaned back into the window, muttering, “Meow.”

Across town, Carol and Jessica were headed toward a crime scene. An abandoned trailer had been found on the highway and it appeared that a dead woman was inside the trailer. When the arrived on scene, however, they found that they weren't the only ones to have caught word of the case. Spurbury officers milled around outside of the Winnebago. Not to be deterred, Carol strode up to the door and pulled it open, only to be faced with the sight of a woman, face down in a pet's water bowl with a chain wrapped around her throat. Lifting her gaze from the body, she made eye contact with Chief Fury and his right hand man, Officer Coulson.  
“Oh, goody,” Coulson muttered.  
Carol shot him a grin and stepped into the trailer, Jess following her lead. “Look, this is our jurisdiction. This crime scene's ours.”  
Fury grunted. “The hell it is. Out of work patrolmen don't get to run murder investigations.”  
“I recognize this,” Jessica cut in, crouching next to the body and reaching out to move the woman's strap aside.  
Coulson reached down, slapping her hand away. “You can't touch the body!”  
“Hey!” Jess yelped, snatching her hand back. “I'm just trying to get a look at her tattoo,” she explained, her hand moving back to repeat the motion.  
Again, Coulson slapped her hand away and Jessica shot to her feet with a snarl. Carol turned to them, one arm coming up to block Jessica from lashing out at Coulson.  
“Don't slap my rookie,” she warned.  
From the back of the trailer came an awful racket, the door that divided the bedroom from the rest of the trailer shaking violently. Suddenly, it burst open and a hog raced toward them, screeching. Carol and Jessica shot out the door, Fury and Coulson hot on their heels. Slamming the door shut to keep the pig corralled, Carol turned to find that back up had arrived. Clint and Bucky strolled toward them, adjusting their sunglasses.  
“What have we got?” Clint called, surveying the scene.  
Carol gestured over her shoulder. “Dead woman. Looks like she was choked out with a chain. We've also got a bit of a hog problem.”  
A grin stretched over Clint's face and he hurried over to the door, throwing it open and charging inside with a shout. The trailer shook wildly, noises from both the hog and Clint easily heard from outside. After a moment, Carol turned to Jessica, pointing to their cruiser.  
“Get the tape. I want the scene marked off,” she ordered.  
Fury stepped in front of Jessica, blocking her path. “I don't think so. This investigation belongs to the Spurbury Police Department.”  
The door to the trailer swung open and Clint fell out, slamming the door behind him. He wiped a hand under his nose, the skin coming away slick with blood.  
Carol stared at him for a moment before turning back to Fury. “It's our case. It falls under our jurisdiction.”  
And just like that, it was a repeat of the diner the day before. The crime scene blurred into a mob scene, fists flying and people getting knocked to the ground left and right. When the dust settled, Carol and Natasha—the only officers that hadn't ended up getting handcuffed by one person or another—stood in front of their colleagues.  
Carol rubbed her jaw, thinking. “I'll give you the ugly guy for Bucky. And, uh...how about the stupid one for Jess?”  
Natasha scanned the ground cluttered with bloodied officers. “You'll have to be more specific. They're all kind of ugly and stupid.”  
“Oh, for God's sake, get these damn handcuffs off of me right now!” Fury demanded, blood flowing from a gash in his lip.  
Carol sighed, rolling her shoulders. “Whatever. You guys can have the damn Winnebago and the damn pig. Let's hit the road, guys.”

A couple of days later, Clint and Bucky were out on patrol, mulling over the latest break in the murder case. Though they had officially given the investigation to the police department, they were working their leads. If they could solve the case themselves, it just might be the edge they needed to save their station from being shut down. After some further digging, Jessica had remembered where she'd seen the tattoo before. It was a cartoon character from an Afgahni cartoon by the name of Johnny Chimpo. The premise of the cartoon was that the monkey traveled the world causing trouble. However, they couldn't quite make the connection between the tattoo and the cartoon.  
“It can't be a coincidence,” Clint argued, shaking his head.  
Bucky shrugged. “I don't know. Jess seemed pretty sure it was just a cartoon.”  
“There's something else on that Winnebago, I know it,” Clint muttered.  
Up ahead, a semi flew past a weigh station, not even bothering to pretend he'd been planning on stopping. Clint flipped on the lights and sirens and pulled forward, watching the driver steer the massive vehicle to the side of the road.  
As he opened his car door, Clint made a thoughtful noise. “What's this one gonna be?”  
“No games this time,” Bucky said, remembering the captain's reproach and his reminder that they needed to be on top of their game. “Let's just play this one straight.”  
Clint said nothing as Bucky walked up to the driver's door. The driver, a looming bald man, looked down at them pleasantly, passing over his license and registration without being asked. “Is there a problem, officer?”  
“Yes sir, there is. You passed a weigh station about a quarter mile back,” Bucky explained, waving him down. “Keep your hands where we can see them and step on out for us please.”  
The man did as he was asked, apologizing as he did so.  
Mid-apology, Clint stepped up next to Bucky. “Yes sir there is. You passed a weigh station about a quarter mile back. Keep your hands where we can see them and step on out for us please.”  
The driver faltered, confused, and Bucky shot a glare at Clint.  
“What are you carrying today sir?” Bucky asked, though the markings on the truck—Bunty Soap—made his load fairly obvious.  
“Soap,” the man confirmed, pointed to the logo.  
“What are you carrying today sir?” Clint chimed in, his tone an exact mirror of Bucky's.  
Holding back a sigh of exasperation, Bucky gestured towards the back of the truck. “We'll need to take a look in the back of your truck....” he glanced down at the license, “Mr. Galikanokus.”  
Clint repeated the motion, following Bucky and the driver. “We'll need to take a look in the back of your truck, Mr. Galika—yeah, not getting that one.”  
Galikanokus opened the back of the truck, stepping aside to let the officers through. “Feel free to go on in. I've got nothing to hide.”  
Bucky climbed in first, deciding to use this game to his advantage if Clint was forcing him to play. “Okie silly dilly dokie. I'm an idiot.”  
“That's true,” Clint agreed, pulling himself up behind his partner.  
“Sorry there's not much light in there,” Galikanokus called, the sound of gravel crunching under his feet coming in through the open space.  
Bucky turned to ask Clint to grab a flashlight from the cruiser when the doors were suddenly slammed shut, throwing them into darkness. Both men gave a shout of surprise, lunging for the doors, though they knew they were too late.  
“I should've seen that coming,” Bucky muttered, his voice echoing in the small space.  
A few feet in front of him, Clint's voice came back cheerfully. “I should've seen that coming.”  
Bucky sighed. “I'm going to kill you, Clint.”  
“I'm going to kill....you...Clint?”

Neither of them knew how much time passed before the doors were thrown open again, the grinning faces of Carol and Jessica peering in at them. Bucky stood quickly, breathing out a sigh of relief.  
“It stinks like sex in here,” Carol joked, climbing up to join them.  
Clint leaned out, spotting only one other car. “Hey, where's our cruiser?”  
“Currently being fished out of a lake,” Carol told him, her tone sympathetic.  
Clint's shoulders slumped. “Really?”  
Jess shook her head. “Nah, we just parked it across the street.”  
Her partner shot her a look before moving farther into the truck. “What's in these boxes?”  
“Soap?” Bucky shrugged, more concerned with getting _out_ of the truck than spending anymore time _in_ it.  
Carol lifted a box from the stack and turned it over, spilling its contents across the floor. Bars of soap skittered across the metal floor, but the most interesting contents were the obscene amounts of marijuana packed between layers of soap. These weren't just any drugs—they bore the same mark that had been immortalized in ink on the murdered woman's shoulder.  
Johnny Chimpo.

If you were forced to look on the bright side, there were some positives about constantly running dispatch. No one got shot answering phones. You could screw around when things got slow. Hell, you could screw with people if you got bored. Unfortunately for Natasha, there were a lot more downsides to it—one of them being that she was the only one in the station that evening, all alone with the phones that refused to ring. She leaned back in her chair, reading a book she'd bought on her lunch break. Around the eighth chapter, a phone rang and she picked it up, cradling it against her ear.  
“Spurbury Police Department, what's your emergency?” she answered calmly.  
“Oh please! You've got to help me! There's a man...oh he's disgusting!” An odd voice called through the line, sounding panicked.  
Natasha straightened, turning to her computer. “Ma'am, can you tell me where you are? What's the man doing?”  
“He's flashing me! Oh, lord, he's so...bulgey!” The voice cried. “I'm at the corner of Main and Armstrong. Please come quick.”  
Pausing for a moment, Natasha's eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Ma'am, that's where this police station is.”  
“Good! Maybe you can see him. He's near the window!” The voice said.  
Natasha rolled her chair to the side a few feet, peering out the front door. She nearly fell over when she caught sight of Bucky dancing around on the sidewalk in nothing but a pair of boxers and a tan trenchcoat.  
Fighting back her laughter, she returned to her computer. “Oh, I see him, ma'am.”  
“Good, good! Is there anything you can do to stop him? He's horrible!” Bucky screeched, trying to make his voice as feminine as possible. “Oh my—I think he's going back!”  
Dropping the phone, he sprang back in front of the door, fully aware that he was making a complete fool of himself in his underwear. And yet, he couldn't really bring himself to mind when he remembered the small smirk on Natasha's face before she'd gotten her expression under control. Until, that is, he heard a shotgun being cocked behind him. He froze instantly.  
“Freeze motherfucker,” a deep voice demanded.  
Bucky gulped. “Oh God, please don't shoot me. I'm naked.”  
The barrel of the shotgun poked his lower back. “Drop your coat and grab your toes.”  
“What?” he yelped.  
The barrel dipped below the hem of the trenchcoat, lifting it up. “I'm gonna show you where the wild goose goes.”  
“Oh, this isn't happening,” Bucky muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “I'm a police officer. I—Natasha! Natasha, help!”  
“Baby,” the deep voice bellowed, “I'm gonna butter your bread.”  
Bucky stopped, turning around to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, Natasha stood behind him, shotgun in one hand and a voice filter in the other. Natasha glanced down at the device.  
“You don't have these at your station?” she asked, still speaking into it.  
Bucky grinned, reaching out to pull the filter to his own mouth. “I don't suppose you have a fresh pair of underwear I can borrow.”  
Natasha smirked. “I'm not sure you could fit into my panties.”

Despite the fact that he had taken what was probably the most immature and doomed route to flirting with Natasha, Bucky found himself stumbling through the impound with her, their lips locked and hands wanderings over each other. She slammed him back against the Winnebago, ripping the door open and pulling him in behind her. He followed eagerly, his hands falling to her hips. Grinning wickedly, she led him to the back room and pushed him down on the bed. His hold on her hips tightened, jerking her down roughly with him. The sudden movement gave way to a loud crack, the bed sinking in the middle. Both of them froze, their eyes widening. In a flash, they were on their feet, pushing the mattress aside. What they found left them both speechless for a moment.  
“That...that is a lot of pot,” Bucky said finally.  
Natasha nodded slowly. “And they don't know its in here.”  
Bucky glanced over at her. “They don't?”  
“It wouldn't be in here if they did,” she said, looking at him expectantly.  
He glanced between her and the stash, his brain still muddled from their earlier activities. “Oh. _Oh._ Holy shit.”

The next morning, Carol strolled into the station to find most of her colleagues huddled around the front desk, listening carefully to what was being said in the captain's office. A quick assessment showed that the only other person missing was Jessica, and her stomach dropped.  
She nudged Bucky. “What's going on?”  
“Stark caught Jess speeding last night,” he explained.  
Carol swore under her breath and leaned forward to slap Tony across the back of the head. “Dipshit.”  
Tony turned to glare at her. “She was breaking the law.”  
“She's your coworker and you're a glory seeker,” Carol snapped.  
Before Tony could fire back with a response, Steve's office door opened and Jess slumped out, her eyes on the ground. Steve followed a few steps behind, looking tired.  
He caught sight of the group and straightened up. “Jessica's on radio. We don't have enough people to suspend her but I can't let it go unpunished. Stark, you're on the road. Don't screw it up.”  
Tony gave him a happy salute. “Wouldn't dream of it, Captain.”  
Steve rubbed a hand over his eyes. “All right, Barnes, you want to fill us in on whatever the hell you found last night?”  
Bucky perked up at this, picking up a backpack from the ground and upending it. A shrink-wrapped bale of marijuana fell out onto the desk, the bright Johnny Chimpo sticker shining on the top.  
“This is what I found. And it's not all of it. There's a ton of this stuff under the bed in the Winnebago,” he announced triumphantly.  
Clint narrowed his eyes. “How'd you know it was there?”  
Bucky hesitated. “It was just a gut feeling.”  
Jessica snorted. “Bullshit.”  
“A good cop has a good gut,” Bucky retorted.  
Steve held up a hand for silence. “So those goons over at the police department have no idea they're sitting on what's probably the biggest drug bust Vermont's ever seen?”  
“Not a clue,” Bucky confirmed.  
Carol rubbed her neck, an idea forming. “Cap, didn't you say the governor was coming in a few days? Some benefit or another that they're using to double as a 'thank you' for our outstanding police work.”  
“I'm sure I didn't say that, but yes she is,” he nodded.  
Carol and Bucky glanced at each other, understanding dawning on his face. “So...what if that Winnebago ended up at that party?”  
“And what if we were the ones who brought it there?” Clint jumped in, picking up on the route they'd taken.  
“And if we were the ones who made the bust,” Steve finished, a grin pulling at his lips. “Oh, it's good to have you back.”

While a plan was slowly being put into place, their duty still called. Clint and Bucky took off to canvas truck stops in the area, hoping to find someone who could tell them more about Galikanokus or Bunty Soap. Unfortunately, this left Carol paired up with Stark. An hour into their patrol, and she had already had to physically restrain herself from reaching over and banging his head against the dash twice. Things had finally seemed to calm down when they found their first speeder. Carol eased the car to the shoulder and radioed in to Jess.  
In the delay, Tony spoke up. “Hey, I was thinking about what we could name the car. What about Stanvers? It's got a nice ring to it. Say it. Car Stanvers.”  
Jessica's voice came through then, saving her from answering. Carol read off the license plate number, ignoring Tony's repeated requests to identify herself as Car Stanvers. He even went so far as to scrawl it on his notepad in messy script, shoving the pad in front of her face. She disconnected with Jessica and glared at Tony, trying to keep her cool.  
“You didn't say Car Stanvers,” he pouted.  
Carol feigned disappointment. “Aw, I forgot.”  
“What game are we gonna play?” he asked, moving on quickly.  
Carol sighed. “No games, Stark. We need to focus.”  
Tony snorted. “Come on, I know you guys play games. What's the one where you see who can say pussy the most?”  
Carol shot him a look from the corner of her eye. “It's 'meow'. Who can say 'meow' the most.”  
“Oh, wow, you guys are real wild. Watch out for these guys!” Tony threw his hands up. “That's dumb. I can do that. Hell, for twenty bucks I'll call the guy a chicken fucker!”  
Tony pushed open his door and started up to the civilian's car.  
“Whoa! Easy, Tony, easy!”Carol scrambled after him.  
Tony skidded to a stop in front of the open driver's side window. “License and registration, chicken fucker! Ba-cawwk!”

 

“I don't know why you're so pissed. They laughed,” Tony grumbled, pushing open the door to Dimpus Burger, the local fast food joint.  
Carol pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “That was not laughter, Tony. Just order so we can eat and get back out on the road.”  
Tony turned to the cashier, squinting up at the menu. “Yeah, give me a double bacon cheeseburger.”  
The kid leaned into the mic. “Double bacon cheeseburger. It's for a cop.”  
Tony paused, fixing him with a glare. “What the hell's that all about? You gonna spit in it now?”  
“No, I just told him so he'd make it extra good,” the kid assured him, speaking into the mic again. “Don't spit in that cop's burger.”  
“Roger that, holding the spit,” a voice called from the grills.  
The cashier typed something into the register, looking back up at Tony. “Would you like me to dimp-a-size your meal for twenty-five cents?”  
“Would you like me to punch-a-size your face for free?” Tony shot back, leaning towards the teen.  
Behind him, Carol rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as if begging some higher power to strike him mute where he stood.  
“Uh, right,” the kid muttered. “Beverage?”  
“Gimme a litre of Cola,” Tony grumbled.  
The cashier looked at him, confused. “A...what?”  
“A litre of Cola!” Tony snapped.  
Speaking into the microphone, the kid called, “Litreacola? Do we sell litreacola?”  
Carol sighed. “Would you just order a large, Stark?”  
“I don't want a large Stark,” Tony protested. “I want my goddamn litre of Cola!”  
“I don't know what that is,” the cashier deadpanned.  
Tony reached across the counter, tugging him forward by his shirt. “Litre is French for give me my fucking Cola before I break your fucking lip!”

Tony got his Cola.  
He studied the side of his cup, scanning the details of a peel-away contest the chain was holding.  
Carol bit into her sandwich—after making sure none of the Stark-provoked spit had wound up on her burger. “You gotta check your temper, man. It's going to hold you back if you wind up looking for another job.”  
“It doesn't matter because I'm gonna win ten million dollars,” Tony sang, shaking his cup at her.  
Carol looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “What are you going to do with ten million dollars? And you can't say buy the Boston Red Sox.”  
Tony thought for a moment. “I'd buy a ten million dollar car.”  
“Solid investment,” Carol nodded, feigning seriousness. “But I'd still pull you over.”  
Tony scoffed. “Bullshit. Even if you did try to pull me over, I'd activate my car's wings and fly away.”  
As he spoke, he peeled the sticker off of his cup. A stream of soda shot out, spilling in his lap. He looked down at it in shock before the rage hit and he shot toward the counter. “You son of a bitch!”

Silence stretched in Steve's office as he replayed the footage from the fast food place. On the screen, Tony launched over the counter at the cashier, tackling him to the ground. A second later, Carol slid over the counter, going after Tony. Before she could pull him off, Tony had gotten in more than a few good shots. Steve clicked it off and turned to Tony, sitting on the other side of the desk. The captain had had to go down to the police station to bail him out, arriving just as Chief Fury had walked out of Tony's cell.  
“That's it,” Steve muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You're off the road. Never again.”  
Tony sat up straighter in his chair. “Sir, it wasn't my fault!”  
“Neither was the damn school bus,” Steve snapped. “You know, there was a time where we'd take a guy like you out back and beat you with a hose. Now you've got your damned unions.”  
“Cap, you know I'm not a union guy,” Tony cut in, only to be silenced by a level glare.  
Steve pushed back from his desk, standing. “And you're banned from Dimpus Burger.”  
“Damn it!” Tony swore.  
“Grab some rubber gloves. From now on, you're the cleaning lady,” Steve muttered, pulling his office door open. “Beat it!”  
Down the hall, the rest of the station was sprawled around an old television set in the evidence locker, watching the Johnny Chimpo tape Jessica had dug up somewhere.  
Clint squinted at the screen. “What the hell is going on? I can't understand what they're saying.”  
Next to him, Carol translated slowly. “It's pretty standard. 'Western culture is evil', 'remain true to the Taliban warlord', oh and the banana is his penis.”  
The door to the evidence locker was pushed open, catching the leg of Jessica's chair and knocking her to the floor. Steve stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. They all shot to their feet, sensing the irritation rolling off of their captain in waves.  
“What did you find at the weigh station?” Steve asked, looking at Clint.  
“My cruiser weighs 16, 000 kilograms,” Clint answered with a grin.  
Steve's jaw tightened. “This is serious. That burger thing with Stark really screwed us over.”  
“They can't lump us in with that fucking martian!” Carol protested.  
Rogers shrugged. “We're all in the same boat.”  
“But...our shenanigans are cheeking and fun,” Clint pointed out.  
Carol nodded. “His shenanigans are cruel and tragic.”  
“Which makes them not shenanigans at all, really,” Bucky concluded.  
“Evil shenanigans!” Clint chimed in, affecting an Irish accent.  
Steve stepped forward, his hands dropping to his sides. “I swear to God, I'll pistol whip the next person to say 'shenanigans'!”  
Clint paused for a moment before leaning into the hall to call down to Tony. “Hey, Stark! What's the name of that restaurant you like with all the goofy shit on the walls and the mozzarella sticks?”  
Tony popped his head into the hall, a toilet brush in one hand. “Shenanigans!”  
“Ooohhh!,” Clint and Carol groaned at the same time, offering the captain their pistols.  
“Put those away!” Steve commanded, his gaze hard. “Have your fun, guys, have your fun. 'Cause I'm gonna start looking for another job.”  
With a noise of disgust, Steve turned on his heel and stalked back to his office, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Perhaps seeing their leader's desperation was the final push they needed to force their determination. Or perhaps the cheesey cartoon had sparked some sort of trigger for it. Whatever the motivator, the troopers found themselves eager to set their plan in motion. The governor was due to arrive in one day, which meant the details needed to be hammered out quickly. And what better place to scheme than the gun range?  
Carol, Jess, and Bucky had shown up first. As part of Jessica's rookie initiation, she had to test out the new bulletproof bras that had started being put into production on a trial basis. Carol, the best shot save for Clint, would be the one firing and Jess had suggested going a bit early to warm up. Clint's cruiser pulled in about half an hour later and he sprang out of the front seat, the Kevlar bra already strapped onto his bare chest. He jogged up to Carol, bumping Jess with his shoulder as he passed.  
“How's your shooting today, Danvers?” he asked.  
Carol held up the target sheet. “Good. I've been dead on all morning.”  
Clint pointed to a bullet hole through the target's neck. “What about that little fella?”  
“Who, that little guy?” Carol glanced down at it, shaking her head. “I wouldn't worry about that little guy.  
“Good enough for me,” Clint shrugged, jogging out onto the range to get into position.  
Carol waited patiently, checking her rounds. “I don't get it. How are we supposed to get into the impound?”  
Seeing Clint flash a thumbs-up, Carol turned and fired. Clint flew back with a whoop, landing flat on his ass.  
The question had been directed to Bucky. “The local cops will already be at the banquet. They'll leave two or three of the dumbest guys at the station. How're you feeling there, Barton?”  
“Good enough...to fuck...your mother!”  
Carol shook her head, turning to Jess. “Your turn, rook.”  
Jessica grimaced but walked out to help Clint up without protest. They traded off and Jess unhappily fastened the Kevlar bra over her uniform. She took a deep breath and gave the all clear sign. A second later, Carol fired and Jess was bowled over by the impact, letting out a shout as she tumbled to the ground. The crunch of tires on gravel sounded and they turned to see Steve's cruiser pull in behind Clint. The captain joined them, raising an eyebrow at Clint's half-naked form.  
“In my day, it was the rookie that got naked,” Steve mused, taking the pistol from Carol and spinning it in one hand.  
He turned lazily and fired, flinching when the bullet shattered his side mirror. He shot a look over his shoulder at Clint, eyebrows knit together.  
“We also used blanks,” he muttered. “You're a sick man, Barton.”  
Clint grinned. “Thanks, Captain.”  
Steve shook his head and shifted his gaze to Carol. “What's this plan you mentioned?”  
Carol slid Clint a sly grin. “It depends. Barton, do you still have that Halloween costume from last year?”

 

Come morning, Steve and Bucky found themselves all dolled up in their formal uniforms and leaning against the bar at the governor's benefit. Both of them were antsy, wishing they could be out with their team to lend a hand. Someone had to be there to keep an eye on things, and it wouldn't do for the captain to be absent. So they waited as patiently as they could, checking their cell phones periodically for updates. Bucky had eventually had to reveal that Natasha was the reason he'd gotten into the impound, and he was somewhat surprised at how few cracks he'd heard about “sleeping with the enemy.”

Across town, Carol and Jess were scaling the fence of the impound, a tarp thrown over the barbed wire that was strung across the top. They dropped to the ground on the other side and glanced around, hoping like hell that Clint was working on his part of the plan. Keeping to the shadows of the abandoned vehicles, they hurried to the Winnebago. Carol slid behind the driver's seat, slipping the keys Bucky had gotten from Natasha into the ignition. The trailer roared to life and they barreled through the impound, slamming into the gate and pushing it aside. Whipping it hard to the right, they raced toward the banquet. In the passenger's seat, Jess sent a quick text to Steve and held on for dear life.

Steve looked down when his phone beeped. He responded with an affirmative and let out a deep breath, starting to relax. Next to him, Bucky stiffened and let out a string of quiet curses. Steve turned and caught sight of Tony headed for them. Despite himself, he swore under his breath.  
“I thought you said he wasn't coming,” Steve whispered.  
Bucky sighed. “I thought I'd taken care of it.”  
“Hey, guys!” Tony called cheerfully. “This isn't Bowl-a-Rama. Good thing I saw the signs or I would've missed it!”  
“Yeah. Good thing,” Bucky muttered.  
Tony elbowed him. “Cheer up, dude. It's an open bar!”  
Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, both of them biting back groans. 

A few miles away, Spurbury's only two officers on duty stood at the edge of the woods, watching the scene before them. Through the trees, they could see what appeared to be a bear being dominated by a lumberjack. They glanced at each other, neither of them sure what exactly to do.  
“Is the bear...” the shorter man started. “Is the guy....”  
His partner slowly lifted a loudspeaker to his mouth. “Bear...bear-fucker! Do you need assistance?”  
The only response he received was a whoop of ecstasy. The officer threw the loudspeaker down and grabbed his shotgun, starting towards the man. Seeing the gun, Clint decided that had been enough of a distraction and turned tail, hauling the stuffed bear with him through the woods as he ran.

Carol and Jess came to a screeching halt in the parking lot of the benefit, not bothering to shut off the engine. They clambered out, hauling the duffel bags of drugs with them. They burst through the door—and froze. On the small stage, Chief Fury and Coulson shook hands with the governor, a pyramid of pot looming behind them. It seemed their bust had been, well...busted. By the bar, Steve and Bucky cast disappointed glances in their direction, shaking their heads. Natasha passed Carol, avoiding her eyes as she slipped out. A moment later, Bucky followed, calling her name when he stepped out into the parking lot.  
Natasha turned reluctantly, arms crossed. “Look, I didn't know anything about this. If I had, I would've warned-”  
“How could you do this?” Bucky yelled over her.  
“I didn't!” Natasha tried to tell him.  
“You crapped on my heart!” he shouted.  
Natasha rolled her eyes and turned away. It was clear he couldn't be reasoned with at the moment and she wouldn't be shouted at for something she wasn't guilty of. Bucky reached out, grabbing her shoulder, and she turned on him in a flash, her knee jerking him on to catch him in the sweet spot. He gave a gasp of pain, stumbling to the asphalt with a curse. Natasha stomped away to find her cruiser, leaving him on the ground. By the time he'd managed to push himself up on his feet again, Clint was coming at him, having received word of the police department's bust when he showed up—sans bear, of course. Before Bucky could say anything, Clint hauled him up by the front of his shirt, cocking his arm back to throw a punch.  
“I didn't do it,” Bucky coughed out, his eyes still watering.  
Clint glared down at him, his eyes hard. After a moment, he dropped his fist and pushed Bucky back, muttering under his breath. Clint kicked the wheel of a Spurbury cruiser and stalked away, shoving his sunglasses on his face and leaving his partner sprawled across the parking lot.

 

That night, the troopers all met at the station, gathered around the front desk much like they had been on the morning of Jessica's suspension. This time, they all wore long faces and Clint refused to look at Bucky, even though Carol had explained that he hadn't been to blame. None of them quite knew how it had happened. What they did know was that this could very likely be their last night as patrolmen. The governor's decision would be handed down quickly, and would more than likely be put into effect without hesitation. Jess lined up a row of shotglasses on the desk, filling them lazily with a bottle Steve had produced from his desk. She was sitting cross-legged on one end of the desk, with Carol perched on the other end. Everyone else was scattered in a half-assed circle on folding chairs.  
Taking a long swallow from her beer, Carol sighed. “I'm gonna miss this place.”  
“Every one of you is a pain in my ass, but you're a pain that I'm gonna miss like hell,” Steve chimed in next to her.  
“We're like the kids you never had, Cap,” Clint said with a wink.  
Steve snorted. “Clint, if you were my son, I'd have smothered you by now.”  
Jessica set the bottle down with a loud thunk and slapped her hands on her knees. “All right, enough of this sappy bullshit. Who wants a shot?”  
A few voices muttered in answer and she clanked the bottle against the table again, raising her voice. “I said, who wants a shot?”  
This time, they all responded loudly, grinning at the dark-haired rookie that they'd all come to think of as a part of their dysfunctional little family. Jessica started passing out the shotglasses when they heard someone fumbling around in the locker room. Pushing open the door, Steve froze. Tony looked up from his locker, an easy grin spreading across his face.  
“Oh, hey guys. Just cleaning out the old locker,” he sighed wistfully. “I'm gonna miss her.”  
They all stared in silence, taking in the sight of Tony in a Spurbury police uniform. It took a moment for any of them to regain their composure enough to speak.  
Clint raised his hand at the back of the group. “What the fuck?”  
Steve stared Tony down. “What the hell are you doing wearing that uniform in my station?”  
Tony laughed, raising his eyebrows at the jeans and denim button-up Steve wore. “Like you're one to talk, Denim Dan. You look like the president and CEO of Levi-Strauss!”  
Seeing that his audience wasn't quite up for cracking jokes, Tony inched forward, slipping through the door with a nervous laugh. When he was gone, Carol turned to look at the group.  
“Stark did it!” she growled, punching the lockers. “He's the one who told Fury about the pot in the trailer. He must have told him when the local assholes picked him up at the burger joint!”  
Clint glanced over his shoulder, his jaw tight. “Traitor.”  
“And now he's gonna work with them and he's getting the credit for the bust,” Jess chimed in, crossing her arms over her chest.  
Carol scoffed. “Not if I can do a damn thing about it. Screw him. You know what? Screw all those fuckers!”  
The troopers gave a cheer of agreement, the alcohol in their systems helping their agitation. Tony's re-entrance added to the hostility and it only took a nod from Steve before Carol and Clint were tackling Tony to the ground and dragging him off to the bathroom. They stripped him of his uniform and cudded his hands behind the toilet, using one of his socks as a gag. Carol snagged the keys to his cruiser from his pocket and thrust them into the air triumphantly.  
“I think it's time to go have some fun,” she announced.

Half an hour and a good portion of a liquor store later, Jessica pulled the cruiser to a stop outside of Fury's house at Steve's request. He stumbled out of the backseat with a bottle, nearly landing on his face when he tripped over the curb. Bucky was slumped against the door, moping into his bottle of beer.  
“I jus' feel bad tha' I blamed her,” he slurred, looking miserable.  
Next to him, Clint perked up. “I got an idea! Jess, gimme the radio.”  
Jessica passed the transmitter back, keeping an eye on the stumbling captain who seemed to be trying to lure Fury out of the house. From the lack of light inside, she wasn't so sure he was in. Steve seemed to be too invested for her to tell him that, so she sat back instead.  
Clint held the transmitter to his mouth, channeling his inner-Stark before speaking. “Tasha! Come in, Tasha, it's Tony. I love you Tasha!”  
An annoyed voice crackled over the com. “Excuse me, sir, this is a police line. I'm going to need you to switch channels.”  
Clint's mouth formed an O of surprise and he tossed the radio to Bucky, who fumbled it, knocking his beer out the window. “Natasha! Natasha, don't hang up, is' me, Bucky.”  
Her eye-roll was almost audible. “Are you drunk?”  
“Um...no?” Bucky leaned out the window, attempting to get some privacy.  
From the lawn, Steve shouted for Jessica to join him. “C'mon, I need somebody sober!”  
Clint clambered up into Jess' seat, narrowly missing Carol's head with his flailing feet.  
Bucky wobbled on the window sill. “Look, I'm sorry 'bout wha' I said at the benefit. I know you didn't tell Fury 'bout the pot. It was Tony-”  
“That fucker!” Clint yelled.  
“Yeah, that,” Bucky nodded. “But I'm real sorry, Natasha.”  
Natasha sighed and the line went quiet for a moment. “You want to get back at them?”  
“'Course I do,” Bucky replied.  
On the other end, he could hear the sound of her typing. “I overheard Fury and Coulson talking earlier. There's something big going down at the airfield, and I think it's got to do with the drug smuggling ring. I'll meet you there.”  
“Okie dokie,” Bucky answered, saluting the radio.  
Clint gave a war cry from the front seat, slamming his fist against the horn. “Lock and load, boys and girls! We got ourselves a case!”

 

The 'case' turned out to be sitting at the corner of an intersection for half an hour. Jessica had wrestled Clint out of her seat and taken back control of the wheel. Bucky was sprawled across Steve and Clint's laps, both feet hanging out of the window. In the front seat, Carol had pulled a deck of cards from the glove compartment, conning Jess into a game of Rummy.  
“Are you sure this is where Natasha said to meet?” Clint asked, poking Bucky's side.  
He nodded sleepily. “Yep. Right here. Any minute now.”  
As if on cue, a familiar semi pulled by. It was driven by a bald man, the side of the truck bearing the label of Runty Soap. Carol and Jess traded a wide-eyed look before Jess threw the car into drive and whipped it to the left to follow the truck. Before they'd gotten more than a few yards, a car came to a screeching stop in front of them, blocking their path. Jess slammed on the brakes and Bucky gave a loud yelp, rolling to the floor. Tony jumped out of the car in front, his weapon drawn.  
“Get out of the goddamn car!” he commanded. “I said now!”

“This is stupid,” Carol muttered, leaning her hip against the hood of the stolen cruiser.  
“Shut it!” Tony snapped. “You're all under arrest.”  
“No, Tony,” Clint slurred. “You're under arrest for being a complete and total fuckhead!”  
He lunged towards Tony but, in his drunken state, it was an easy move to avoid and Clint slid across the hood of Tony's car, landing on the other side.  
Steve stepped forward, wobbling slightly, and rested a hand on Tony's shoulder. “Look, I know you're pissed but we have an opportunity to break something big! But you've gotta let us go, Tony.”  
Tony's stern look slipped a little and his shoulders fell. “I-I was just trying to save myself, Cap. I did what I had to do!”  
Due largely to the captain's drunken reassurances and partly to Carol's threats of violence, Tony decided it was worth letting them go and they all took off to the airfield, hiding in the bushes where they had a good view. A plane with Canadian markings was idling on the runway, a few dark figures milling around outside.  
“So the Canadians are running drugs for the Taliban,” Clint said slowly.  
Carol shook her head. “No, Barton. Think about it.”  
“Canadian grass,” Jessica deduced, nodding solemnly.  
The leaves rustled and Natasha broke into their little clearing, holding her finger to her lips when she caught sight of their startled faces. Tony leaned further into the bushed, peering out at the field. Lights flashed and he swore loudly.  
“That's Fury! Damn it, I'm screwed if they see my car!” Tony hesitated for a moment before pushing his way out of the bushes and sprinting toward Fury.  
Carol tried to grab him as he ran past. “Stark! Stark get back here! Damn it. He's walking into the lion's den.”  
“We need a distraction,” Natasha decided. “Open up the cruiser and check Tony's truck. There's got to be something we can use.”  
She and Carol moved to Tony's trunk, jimmying it open. Across the clearing, Clint held up fistfuls of brightly colored sticks.  
“We've got flares, but no weapons.”  
Carol pulled out a metal case, flipping it open. She froze, sucking in a breath.  
“Oh, Tony. You sick, sick man,” she muttered. “Hey, look, it's got your name on it.”  
Natasha resisted the urge to gag, slamming the trunk shut. “Bring the flares over here.”

Out on the field, Tony had managed to catch up with Fury, panting heavily and aiming his weapon at the pilot. “D-don't worry, Chief. I got this. These Canadian assholes are busted.”  
Fury snatched the gun away. “What the hell are you doing here? You're messing everything up!”  
Tony paused, suddenly lost in the situation. From behind him came the roar of an engine. Tony's cruiser burst out onto the field, lit flares stuck in every crevice they could find. On top of the car was the gem Carol had found in the trunk—a blow-up doll.  
“That's my car,” Tony mumbled, pointing. “That's my girl.”  
Fury, Coulson, and the pilots had all pulled their weapons by now, firing at the oncoming vehicle. It rolled to a stop behind the plane and the trunk burst open, Clint and Bucky flying out fists-first.  
“Trojan cruiser, motherfuckers!” he shouted, taking down one of the pilots.  
Steve and Fury squared off, circling each other warily.  
“Are you drunk?” Fury asked, incredulous.  
“Drunk enough to kick your ass,” Steve grumbled, lunging forward and socking him across the jaw.  
Behind him, Jess took a flying leap off of the back of the cruiser, tackling Coulson to the ground and knocking him out with a blow to the side of the head. Natasha and Carol were battling it out with the Canadians, easily disarming and restraining them. Fury was the last of his group standing, but he didn't last long against Steve. With one last punch, Fury flew backwards, landing on the grass with a groan of pain.  
Steve rubbed his knuckles. “Two-time Army champ, punk.”

Needless to say, Fury and his men were taken into custody and the Spurbury Police Department was a bit lacking in employees. On top of it, the governor had made her decision and sent a courier to Captain Rogers with a letter. When Steve received it, he called his team, waiting to read it with them. They crowded together on Steve's porch, anxious to hear what the governor had to say.  
Steve cleared his throat and slid the letter out of the envelope. “'On behalf of the state of Vermont, I'd like to thank you and your men for your outstanding police work in bringing down the drug smuggling ring and revealing the startling police corruption. Due to our tight fiscal situation, we regret to inform you that we are still going to have to shut down your station,” Steve's shoulders dropped, the words sinking in. “Good luck in Sherbourne, Steve, and give your team my best. Sincerely, Governor Fuckhead.”  
Silence fell on the porch, the troopers trading heavy looks. It seemed that all their work had been for nothing. Sure, Fury and his group of corrupt cops had been taken in, along with a mind boggling amount of marijuana, but the Highway Patrol was dead. They couldn't save their station. And now, they'd all be scattered to the wind, given new stations and new jobs. 

 

**THREE MONTHS LATER**  
“I remember these being a lot lighter,” Carol grunted, her grip on the keg tightening.  
Jess shifted her hands, heaving it higher. “Probably because you were drunk when you were carrying it.”  
“True,” Carol admitted. “Too bad we can't drink on the job.”  
Jess shot a glance at their truck, shaking her head. “I'm now drinking any beer called 'St. Anky's'. I'll wait and get the good stuff.”  
Their conversation paused while they hauled the keg up the stairs and rang the doorbell, Jessica collapsing against the porch rail. The door was flung open and a familiar teen pothead grinned out at them. Recognition hit and he stumbled backwards, his eyes widening in fear.  
“Relax. We're not troopers anymore,” Carol assured him with a tight smile. “Our station got shut down.”  
The boy seemed to accept this and gestured for them to enter. “Well, uh, my dad ordered this but he's asleep. So come on in.”  
Carol and Jessica shared a disbelieving look. If anyone was 'sleeping' through a party like this, they weren't ever going to wake up. They held their tongues and heaved the keg up again, following the teen's directions.  
He pointed to a corner of the living room. “Right over there's fine.”  
A friend of his—another boy from the car—stepped up next to him. The first boy cocked his head towards the women, grinning. “Those cops got shut down. They're beer girls now.”  
Carol restrained herself from pegging him in the head with her clipboard.  
The second boy smirked, pointing to the other side of the room. “Y'know, I think it's better over...there.”  
The women swallowed groans and hauled the keg across the room. Just as they set it down, the first boy shook his head.  
“Nah, it's better for the flow back over here,” he decided.  
Jessica muttered something about smothering him in his sleep as they returned the keg to its original spot. Carol pulled her clipboard from her belt and glanced around. “I'm gonna need someone with ID to sign for this.”  
The blond kid laughed, pulling out a bill. “Well, I don't have any ID,but Abraham Lincoln here says I do, and he never told a lie.”  
Carol arched an eyebrow. “That was George Washington.”  
“You guys drive a hard bargain, but okay,” the kid sneered, pulling out a dollar bill. He paused before passing it over, thinking. His sneer deepened and he tore the bill in half. “How about you guys split it?”  
Carol glanced over at her shoulder at Jess. “Now?”  
Jess nodded. “Yep.”  
At the same time, they tore off their jumpsuits, revealing their navy blue uniforms underneath. Carol pulled her badge out, flashing it at the teens.  
“Spurbury Police Department. Party's over!” she yelled.  
The music died off, replaced by the shrieking of drunk teenagers trying to escape the house quickly. Clint and Bucky strolled through the front door with Natasha, waving the teens out.  
Carol turned back to the awestruck boys, tapping the keg. “Hope you boys are thirsty. I think Officer Drew and I still owe you a lesson.”

 


End file.
